


All you had to do was stay

by SmilinStar



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or three more times Caroline walks (runs) away, and the one time Stefan (finally) stops her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All you had to do was stay

**Author's Note:**

> Post 6x08, with some speculation for the next few episodes based on the synopsis for 6x09/6x10. Title from Taylor Swift's song of the same name, because it's perfect, and her whole album is perfect, but I think everyone knows that already.

\-----

_Listen . . ._

She can't help it, she keeps coming back to that one word and focuses on the unspoken ellipsis, the dot-dot-dot-, the missing words to complete the sentence and give it meaning. She's got no one else to blame but herself, she knows that, but it doesn't stop her mind from wandering off at random, inopportune moments, replaying that one word in her mind and coming up with phantom endings.

 

_Listen . . . Caroline, I'm sorry, I don't feel the same way as you . . ._

_Listen . . . I miss you, I want us to be friends again_

_Listen . . . Caroline, I can't keep doing this, I give up, it's not worth it, you're not worth it . . ._

_Listen . . . Caroline, I love-_

There's a sharp single knock on the wood of her dorm room door, and it's followed by a familiar “Hey,” that never fails to cause her breath to hitch, and her heart to stutter.

 

She closes the door of her wardrobe and takes a steadying breath.

 

He's starting to make a habit of this.

 

She turns around and there he is, leaning up against the frame of the doorway in a grey v-neck and jeans, a tentative smile on his face and caution in his stance, as if she'll pounce on him the first chance she gets and rip into him anew.

 

Well, she's happy to oblige.

 

“Seriously? You need to stop doing that!”

 

“Doing what?” he asks, all innocence. And damn but she thinks he really has no idea, and she can't be mad and it's just another brick crumbling down to rubble around her feet.

 

_Turning up every time I'm thinking about you and I really shouldn't be,_ she thinks, but doesn't answer.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asks instead, turning away from him to slip her arms into her jacket and pull it on. She grabs her bag off her bed and swings it up on to her shoulder.

 

Stefan moves aside to let her out and watches as she shuts the door.

 

“Oh, you're on your way out?” he says with a note of surprise and there's a frown inching its way down his forehead.

 

“Yeah, I have classes,” she says, an undertone of amusement, and a _you still haven't answered my question_ , to her words.

 

“Right, sorry, of course.”

 

She glances up at him as she turns the key and locks the door. He looks awkward or nervous, or maybe a bit of both, and its more than a little strange. It's not something she's seen on Stefan and unsurprisingly, he wears it well. And that . . . that is not what she's supposed to be thinking and she looks away from him again as she drops her keys into her bag.

 

“So was there a reason you dropped by?”

 

“Oh yeah, I just wanted to uh, say thank you.”

 

“For?”

 

“For the uh food, the leftovers, they were great.”

 

“Oh,” she says and struggles to keep her lips from turning upwards into a smile and portray nothing but indifference, “Well, you're welcome.”

 

He purses his lips and gives her a small nod, and she can see there is so much more he wants to say, and she thinks again of that one word . . .

 

_Listen . . ._

She could sate her curiosity now, once and for all.

 

But self-preservation wins out yet again. She doesn't want to know how that sentence ends; she doesn't want him to extinguish that last tiny flame of hope that keeps on burning despite several attempts to douse it with water. She's not sure she'll be able to handle it just yet. Not yet. And so she cuts him off again, and rushes away with a fleeting smile and an excuse, “Anyway, I've got to go, I'm running late, bye.”

 

She feels his eyes burning into her back as she walks (runs) away.

 

 

\-----

 

 

“Hi.”

 

He actually kind of wants to punch his own face in right now, because this? This isn't him. He's been reduced to monosyllabic words, and stuttered words that don't form full sentences and a complete incapability of finishing a damn thought in his head to even be able to express himself. It's got so bad, he almost wants to pat himself on the back for changing it around and having enough wits about him to toss out a casual “Hi” instead of his go-to “Hey” (as if there's much of a difference).

 

Caroline Forbes has completely wrecked him.

 

And he didn't even see it coming.

 

Which, in hindsight, he knows is ridiculous. Lexi had literally spelt it out for him but he'd just laughed it off. It couldn't be true, it wasn't possible.

 

_But oh look, she'd been right._

He knows that wherever she was, Lexi was probably laughing her ass off and gleefully calling him an idiot through cupped hands.

 

And right now, standing in front of a bewildered Caroline, he feels like one.

 

“Hi,” she says slowly in reply, staring up at him in surprise, “What are you doing here?”

 

He tries not to wince.

 

She's stated in no uncertain terms she hates him and that they are no longer friends, he shouldn't come to expect anything but a frosty reception.

 

But he knows her, and he knows he's hurt her. She's built a wall around her, just like he had when Damon had gone. But he can see the cracks. More importantly, he can see through them, and it's enough to give him hope that their friendship isn't lost forever, that he can get it back.

 

_Friendship._

 

If that's all she'll give him, he'll take it.

 

But he's not sure it's all he wants.

 

And he's not sure what to do with that realisation.

 

“Elena called, said you might need some help, since she's headed out with Damon and Liv.”

 

“Oh.”

 

He can see the cogwheels turning, the smallest flicker of panic at the thought of being alone with him, the hesitation and the fast approaching rejection, and so he cuts in quickly with a hopeful smile and opens the top flap of the box in his hands to give her a peek, “I come bearing tinsel. Lots and _lots_ of tinsel.”

 

He knows the moment she decides, and lets go, and there's a smile on her lips and it's beautiful, “Well how can I refuse more tinsel?”

 

“Great,” he says, and he's pretty sure he's grinning like a fool, and there they go again. More awkward silence.

 

“Uh yeah, come in,” she finally breaks it with a nervous laugh and an outstretched arm of invitation.

 

He walks into the shared living space and spots the Christmas tree in the corner, already covered in a few sparse baubles. “I see you've already started.”

 

“Yeah,” she answers, grabbing the box from his arms and dropping it on to the dinner table with the rest of the decorations, “I couldn't really wait any longer, and besides I'd like to get it all finished before Bonnie gets home.”

 

_Eternal optimism._

Just one of the many things he loves about her.

 

“So where do you want me?” he asks.

 

She looks around the room, debating, stops her three-sixty perusal when her eyes land on the tree. She throws him a red and gold bauble, which he deftly catches.

 

“You can help me with the tree.”

 

He smiles, he can't help it. It feels a little like a truce in the spirit of Christmas. She could have sent him to the opposite side of the room, as far away from her as possible, but she's done the exact opposite, and it fills him with a warmth he hasn't felt for a long time.

 

They both get to work, and it's surprisingly easy.

 

It feels like they've found some of their old comfort. They work together well, their thoughts and movements in sync with each other.

 

She's literally sparkling. There's glitter in her hair, her cheeks rosy from the exertion and a smile that hasn't left her lips. A smile he hasn't seen in far too long. She's absolutely beautiful and he can't stop staring.

 

She twists her head slightly, looking at him from over her shoulder, “What?”

 

He shakes his head and says, “Nothing.”

 

It takes her a moment to accept his answer, before she turns back to the tree, hand outstretched. He hands her the last of the baubles. He'd been careful not to touch her all this time, but he kind of can't help himself now as he brushes his fingers against hers, thumb lingering against the back of her hand.

 

He watches her try not to react. But she does. It's in the subtle way she bites on her bottom lip, the darkening blush of her cheeks, and the speed with which she pulls her hand back and hangs the little trinket on the higher branches of the tree.

 

She clears her throat and steps back, “Nearly done,” she says with a careful smile, “Just need the Angel for the tree-top now.”

 

“Where is it?”

 

“Oh, it should be in that box on the floor,” she says as she starts to move towards it.

 

He stops her with a hand on her elbow, “I'll get it.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

He brings the box back to her side and drops it on the table. He rummages through the old decorations, but struggles to find it.

 

“Is it there?”

 

“Um no,” he says as his fingers land on something else entirely, and he can't help raise his eyebrows. He thinks he should probably just leave it in there, avoid the awkwardness, but he really can't help it. He pulls it out and twirls it between his fingers.

 

He watches as her eyes fall on the sprig of mistletoe and her eyes widen with surprise.

 

His eyes land on her lips and it's kind of surreal this sudden urge he has to kiss his best friend, something he realises has been on his mind the second he walked in and found her digging through a box of old ornaments, hair unruly and tied up in a messy bun, a huff of annoyance leaving her lips at the sub par quality of the leftover decorations.

 

She looks up at him then, her own eyes briefly falling to his lips before moving up to meet his.

 

It's yet another moment of shared silence, except there's nothing awkward about it any more.

 

He steps closer and its one step too far as she seems to take hold of her senses then, and steps back, “I'm sorry, I uh just remembered, it's not in there, it's actually in my room, I'll um go . . . and get it.”

 

And he doesn't get to say much else as she spins and literally runs out of there, and he can do nothing else but watch the back of her head as she goes.

 

 

\-----

 

 

“Caroline? Caroline!”

 

She stops at the urgency, the desperation in his voice, but it's nothing compared to her own.

 

She wants to let it take over. She wants it to stop. She wants it to end. She wants, she wants . . .

 

She wants to rip into this pitiful human, tear into his neck, and suck and gorge until he's dry, until there's nothing left but a shell, a corpse. Because that's what she is. There is literally nothing inside of her. Nothing left. _Nothing._

“Caroline, _please,_ don't do this. Don't.”

 

He steps forward and she sees his face.

 

And all she sees is pity and fear and she doesn't _need it._

She bares her fangs and growls, “Leave!”

 

But he doesn't listen. Why won't he listen?

 

He steps forward, arms out in front of him as if approaching a snarling, wounded animal.

 

“Please, Caroline, you don't want to do this.”

 

“How would you know what I want?” she asks, and then she laughs, and even to her own ears it sounds hysterical and manic, “You couldn't even tell I was in love with you!”

 

And there it is. She's actually said it and the shock and devastation on his face is like a vice grip in her chest, and she just wants him to pull. Pull it out and be done with it.

 

“Caroline, please,” and he's begging now, “Please don't do this. You don't want to do this.” And then, “She wouldn't want you to do this.”

 

And that's it. Something snaps, and she doesn't even know what she's doing but she drops the nameless faceless human like a rag doll, and lunges at him.

 

He doesn't even put up a fight, takes each and every furious punch, and it just fuels her anger even more. She shoves him hard up against a tree, and drives a branch into his thigh.

 

He cries out but she doesn't hear it, just yells in his face, “Why won't you leave me alone?!”

 

She pulls the make-shift stake out and clasps it tight in her hand, splintering into her skin, but she doesn't feel it. Doesn't feel anything.

 

“Caroline,” he whispers, and it's a prayer against her skin, as he drops his forehead on to hers.

 

And then she sees it, all the blood. She looks up at his bruised face, and the split lips, but it's his eyes. They're shining with tears and she feels it then. The cold wetness running down her face and she lets go. Her grip on the bloodied branch in her hand loosens and it falls to the ground and she takes a step back. She sees him. She sees the man on the ground, not moving, lifeless and she thinks, _oh god, oh god, oh god._

She shakes her head, her mouth opening to no sound, and stares at him in shock.

 

“Caroline,” he says again, and there is so much he's trying to say with that one word, but she's not ready to hear it.

 

She shakes her head again and she thinks it's resignation she sees on his face.

 

He doesn't follow her when she runs.

 

 

\-----

 

 

It's been months.

 

He knows from what little he's seen of her and from Elena's updates that she's doing better. She's healthier. He's spotted glimpses of smiles from a distance. They're still a little sad, not as bright as he knows they can be, but it's something.

 

He's had time to think.

 

According to Damon he'd done enough brooding and it was time to retire his frowny-face eyebrows and _go get the girl._

Shockingly, he had found himself agreeing with him (a rare to never occasion), and so that led him to here.

 

Standing in the middle of a college party, determination flowing through him, his eyes searching the sea of noisy, drunken, dancing students for her face.

 

“She's not here.”

 

He turns around to find Bonnie Bennett, wise knowing smile on her face.

 

He purses his lips and nods, “That obvious, huh?”

 

“Only cos I've seen that face on hers too many times to count.”

 

She doesn't let him ask, just says with a shrug, “She headed back to the dorm an hour ago, something about this party being lame.”

 

He gives her a genuine smile and a relieved “Thank you,” squeezing her on the shoulder as he passes.

 

“Hey,” she calls to him.

 

He turns back.

 

“Good luck.”

 

He thinks he's going to need it.

 

When he gets to her door, he finds it open, and is glad for it. At least she can't hide away, pretend she didn't hear him knock and call her name.

 

She's lying on the bed, eyes closed, steadily breathing in and out. Her knees are bent, her purple skirt slipping down her thighs and he tries really hard not to stare.

 

He clears his throat.

 

Her eyes snap open and she's sitting up in a split second.

 

“Hey,” he says.

 

She frowns at him, “You need to stop doing that.”

 

“Doing what?”

 

And then she's shaking her head and smiling at him, a small laugh leaving her lips.

 

“Hey,” she says softly instead after a beat, swinging her legs around to sit on the edge of her bed.

 

He takes it as an invitation and walks in.

 

“Wasn't your kind of party, huh?”

 

“I uh just wasn't in the mood, I guess,” she answers.

 

“Right.”

 

_“How are you?”_

_“How are you doing?”_

 

They both ask at the same time, and then she's laughing, and he can't help but smile, stretching out his hand as if to say, _you first._

“I'm ok. Or at least I'm getting there.”

 

“That's good.”

 

“You?”

 

“Oh I'm fine.”

 

_Except for the fact I've fallen in love with you, think I have been falling slowly for years and was just too stupid to realise it._

It's what he needs to say, and he still can't figure out how to actually say it, and so he starts with a “Listen . . .” buying time to string a sentence together.

 

But yet again, she's interrupting him.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

He frowns, “For what?”

 

“For how I behaved, you know, after . . .”

 

She lets the sentence drift but he knows what it is she means.

 

“I'm sorry for the way I treated you.”

 

He sits down beside her, his jean clad thighs brushing against hers.

 

He reaches over and grabs hold of her hand, runs his thumb in circles over her warm skin, “It's okay,” he tells her.

 

She stares down at their joined hands, before looking up at him beside her.

 

Her eyes are wide, beautifully blue as they hold his and there's a silence building between them again. It's not awkward, no, it's something else entirely.

 

He reaches forward, and pushes back her hair, hand cupping her cheek, “Caroline, listen . . . I-”

 

And she jerks away, bolts upright and he can see her running. Always running.

 

He doesn't even hear her excuse of, “Oh I think I left my phone at the party,” he just reacts.

 

He speeds forwards, shutting the door in front of her, grabbing hold of her elbow and gently spinning her around to face him. With one hand braced on the door above her head, he leans down, face inches from hers, and says on a low, steady breath, “I really wish you'd stop doing that.”

 

“Doing what?”

 

“Walking away.”

 

“What else am I supposed to do Stefan?”

 

“Stop and listen,” he says.

 

“What, about how much you miss our friendship, or how much you wish we could go back to being friends, or how you'll never feel the same way as me or how-”

 

He realises then that words are simply just that. Words.

 

And so he cuts her off. Closes what little space there is left between them and kisses her.

 

She's softness and warmth in his arms and he finds the heaviness in his chest lift only once he feels her arms wind up around his neck, and she presses back against him. He drops his arms to her waist and pulls her in close, before planting one last lingering kiss on her lips.

 

He breaks away only to lean down and rest his forehead against hers and smile.

 

She opens her eyes slowly, and there's awe and disbelief shining from them.

 

“What was that?”

 

“That was what I've been trying to tell you for months.” He lifts one of his hands off her waist, and caresses her cheek, “but you weren't listening.”

“I'm listening now,” she says with a beautiful, shy smile.

 

He tangles his hand in her hair, and cups the back of her head. “Yes you are,” he says, before pulling her back in.

 

He's sure he whispers three words against her lips as he kisses her.

 

But just in case she hadn't heard him, even with her super hearing and all, he'll tell her again and again and never tire of it.

 

_I love you._

  **End.**

 

 

 

 


End file.
